THIS IS NOT A LOVE STORY

The internet is sucking out the romance from life.

The internet yields anonymity. If you're lonely and you want to rent a film, you now do it online. If you want to buy a book, you'll do it online, and even more so if you want to buy a book and you're cheap, you'll get it from Ebay or Amazon marketplace. So why do we even need to leave the house. There is now no reason to. You do it all online, and believe me I've done it all online.

By doing this you'll never meet the likeminded shy girl at the big blockbuster, or better yet the local video shop. The boy who reads like crazy but just got over a bad relationship. The girl who makes a funny quip about the album you're buying, not because she likes/dislikes (well not totally) your tastes but because she likes your face.

That's why all the records shops have closed down, because YOU don't want the hassle of going into town, because you don't want the cool rocksteady person behind the counter to snigger at you for buying the new Kings Of Leon album 6 months after it came out. Where the boy behind you is doing the same thing. You're both not that into music, but you are into the romantic notion of the independent record shop, the second hand book store, the market, the local bakers. 

Now I'm not saying the internet is the new television and getting Disposable Heroes of Hiphopritical by being a luddite saying that it feeds radiation (it doesn't) but we are missing some of the things we used to pride ourselves on. Humans communicate, connect and fall in love.

If you want to run through the pigeons in the park do it, because the girl/boy who went to the park to read Bukowski or Gore Vidal just might fall in love with you. Take off your earphones for one part of your journey. Smile at someone. Make their day, or let someone make yours. The next time you finish a book, go out and buy a tatty copy of something in a second hand book shop or a car boot fair. The one person who is thinking exactly the same thing as you, that you don't belong here, is looking for exactly the same thing. Romance.

I don't mean romance in a dinner and flowers way, more the romantic nature of life. The unknowing, the naivety, the unanswered questions. And if you are an internet dater, I have been, don't ask two many questions beforehand, before you meet. Meet, and ask the questions to their face. 

"I love the Smiths - to die by your side..."

or

"What are you looking for?" "The love of my life."

THIS FEAR'S GOT A HOLD ON ME

I don't know what I'm doing part 3

I am currently writing an essay. This essay is meant to be 5000 words long and include lots of quotes to back up anything you say. I went to a special lecture to tell me how to write an essay as I haven't written an essay in 12 years, and even then it was only 1500 economics shit, just rehashing what you've been taught. I suppose all essays are just rehashing what you've been taught.

Anyway, having spent 2 hours being told how to write academically, I still have no clue. I have no clue whether what I've written is right, makes sense or carries an argument. Granted, I haven't read it back yet, but I'm a little afraid to. Who knows what I wrote. I wasn't drunk, but I feel it be a little Kerouac in its form.

Should it really matter how you write? I know punctuation and grammar is very important, and yes I am one of those people who corrects other people's grammar and NEVER uses text speak in texts, but some of the best books I've read have very bad punctuation. Would A Million Little Pieces have been as popular if it wasn't written that way? Regardless of the content and the fabrication story afterwards, one of the selling points was the style. And Kerouac too, but I can't back that up with any evidence as I can't find my copy. On The Road is the only book I've ever read twice, apart from Dangleboots when I was 9 and The Killing Joke. I just saw The Crow Road which is first on the list to join that prestigious group.

I'd like to think that when/if I become a teacher, I will not be a stickler for punctuation and grammar when writing fiction. Content comes first; anything which is wrong can be fixed by your editor.

 

Other thoughts:

1. Yesterday I finally saw footage of White Lies. As I suspected they are a young Editors. All monochrome clothes but without the kitsch of the Hives. I like it. Nice Ian Curtis fringes. I bet the fuzz from their black jumpers doesn't end up their white shirts. Or maybe it does.

2. I bet Terry Richardson could get any model to take their top off. God knows what he says to them.

3. Does it mean something, or not?

BRIAN HOWARD CLOUGH

I got this from some random girl's fashion blog. I seem to be surfing for girl's blogs these days in order to find something new about the way girls think. 

What are you wearing now? Dennis the Menace type long sleeved tee, jeans and slippers. I wasn't too keen on my outfit today.

What’s the last thing you read/are currently reading? I am reading The Damned United by David Peace in an attempt to read it before seeing the film. I just finished The Wettest County In The World by Matt Bondurant last night. 

Do you nap a lot? Never, my teeth hurt if I sleep in the day.

Who was the last person you hugged? Edward. He started crying because I told him off. Far too precious that boy.

What’s your current obsession/addiction? Girls blogs, Tumblr, her, playing the two chords from Postcards From Italy on the ukulele.

Which item from your closet are you wearing most lately? The check shirts

What's for dinner? Sausages and tomatoes with balsamic

What was the last thing you bought? Lunch. Or The Damned United, new Beirut ep and Ryan Adams' Infinity Blues

What are you listening to right now? MCR, and not ashamed

If you could have any super power, what would it be? Mind reading, would be so useful

What is your favourite weather, and why? Sunny but not too hot. Shirt sleeve order.

What time do you usually get up? 7.06 on college days, earlier or later depending on workload

What is your most challenging goal right now? The essays and her

If you could have a house–totally paid for, fully furnished–anywhere in the world, where would you want it to be? Chicago or somewhere in France

Favourite vacation spot? NYC I suppose but I've done it for a while now.

What is your favorite item of clothing? Tweed jacket

Favorite pair of shoes you keep going back to over and over, even though your closet is overflowing with a zillion others: Winter: Big Black Boots / Summer: Tatty white cons - this is a silly question as I only have 6 pairs of shoes

Name one thing you cannot live without: The music of Ryan Adams

What time is bed time? Enough time to read before sleep before 12. 

If you could wake up anywhere tomorrow morning, where would it be? With her 

God I'm obsessed.

Questions:

When did Mary Kate become a hipster icon?

Is this essay any good?

Who will I see from college regularly?

What's the difference between Zooey Deschanel and Katy Perry?

Did Watchmen have some deep hidden meaning that I missed or was it just a story?

When will I write something interesting? In fact I might post my short story about the virtual funeral service. I just need to write it first.

LOOK AT THIS PHOTOGRAPH

Personally, I don't think I'm very photogenic. I'm not saying I'm hideously ugly, although I have thought I was pretty unattractive towards the opposite sex in the past, but I blame that on lack of confidence, lack of understanding of myself and lack of puberty, but it's difficult to take a photo of me where I look good unless it's a candid one of me looking pensive in black and white.

Exhibit A:

The top three are coloured and posed whereas in the bottom three they are monochrome (bar the middle one) and candid. This means one of two things; I can't smile well and I have terrible colouring.

What I'd really like is a photo session to produce 10 or so photos that make me look good. Or just a friend who takes good photos. Is that too much to ask?

I look at people's flickr and tumblr things and they've got all these great grainy or well lit photos of themselves. 

You probably think I'm so vain.....

BLOG VS BLOG

I'm no luddite. I've got a shiny MacBook, a blog, a tumblr account and a twitter account. But what for? Having been on all of these for a while, here are my thoughts.

Blog: The type of people who have blogs don't really care who reads them and they put what they want up. This is usually a mixture of words and pictures, it will account lives so it can be difficult or nice to read. People will give opinions on things such as music, films and fashion, or even their own lives.

Tumblr: Where do I start? Tumblr accounts are either a series of uplifting messages photographed in an arty way, snippets of song lyrics from bands like The Academy Is..., Boys Like Girls or some other soft emo band, or porn. There seems to be absolutely no restriction (bar the illegal) on what you can post on tumblr, even music which is odd given copyright is such a grey area on the internet.

Twitter: This gives people an inflated sense of self worth as they feel as though they are friends with celebrities as they can reply to their posts. The celebrities will rarely respond.

But who am I to talk. I have a blog no one reads, go on tumblr to look at uplifting messages and arty porn and go to twitter to see what Trent Reznor and Pete Wentz are saying. 

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE SO SAD?

I suppose you can tell my frame of mind when I'm referencing Ryan Adams lyrics in casual conversation. There was another band I quoted the other day, but I can't remember it.

1. When talking about someone's rocky relationship, I said, "What, what are the words they use when they know it's over? 'We need to talk' or 'I'm confused, maybe later you could come over.'"

2. When liking a girl from afar, I said, "I remember seeing you the other day but I don't remember saying goodbye. Alls I know is the sky went clear and babe I think I wanted to die."

The best line in that song is "For everyday of sun, I get a month of rain." 

SHE GAVE ME A PEN.....

A quick look at the papers.

Went to see Metallica and The Bronx this week. I always say after I see Metallica that it will be the last time I see Metallica. The show in September was a lot better to this one but probably only due to the seats we had. The show was great, but due to the sparsely populated area in front of us, the sound was a bit muddy. But they did play Turn The Page which I love.

The Bronx also wasn't quite as good as last time, again due to the last venue being tiny and this one being a bit bigger. The opening of Heart Attack American last time was so good - "You know what to do. I want the drinkers to drink, the moshers to moshers and the stage divers to get the fuck up!" But they play Six Days A Week this time.

Look, El Bronx. And hear how good Matt Caughthran's voice is....

I thought screamo was dead, but then I heard Chiodos.

Yes, I am home on a Friday night but a Friday without her isn't a night to be out right now. Two more Fridays to savour. However, I may be in danger of being ostracized soon. See below.

I love YOU, but I'm not that keen on YOU at the moment. 

I finally fucking finished The Count Of Monte Cristo. That's probably why I went out so much this week. Wait and Hope.

Couple of new blogs I like. One and two.

Thanks Mark for today. Quoting Dazed & Confused has never been so fun.

Spin has a question which is - What comes after Radiohead on your ipod? Although they changed it this month to what comes after The Shins on your ipod which isn't so accessible. A: Rage Against The Machine and The Shirelles respectively.

DON'T CALL IT A COMEBACK

Let's get things straight here. It's not that bad. You have good days and bad days, but as I might have said earlier, the good days just aren't that interesting, and also it's a bit more difficult to protect the innocent on the good days as names get bandied around.

The bad days are so much easier to write about. Everyone loves a tortured artist. The Verve on drugs - brilliant. The Verve without drugs - bad. Radiohead full of angst - brilliant. Radiohead loving their children - rubbish. Ryan Adams fucked up on drugs and in a pit of heartbreak - wonderful. Ryan Adams sober - a bit dull (sorry). And it's all about venting; you have to get it out when you're upset. When you're happy you want to savour it and keep it for yourself. 

Also if you tell people you're happy, they think you're smug. If you tell them you're depressed, there's a good chance they'll think you're edgy.

AND I CAN'T STOP SH SH SH SHAKING

I don't know what I'm doing Part 2

What am I doing? How do I get out of this ridiculous mess? What does one do? 

So far I've written, in that strange place where no one will see - and no not this site you cynical cow, a) what I will do when it all goes to seed, and b) why I am like this?

I honestly have no idea how to act. I know how I want to act but it's inappropriate and not acceptable because of the circumstances. I know what I want to say but as we've seen over the last few days it doesn't make anyone happy, and when it does it's only for a fleeting moment. But as I have said before, not to you but to you (not that you read this now we've moved on) that it's worth every second.

Lines that come to mind:

I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends
Theyre all full of shit
With a smile on your face
And then do it again

And as he said "because it was so fucking worth it"

My life, up until this point and excuse me for not thinking about the starving Africans and the disabled children, has been a fucking chore. I think it was about 12 years ago that I realised I only needed one thing to make it all worthwhile. I haven't found that thing until now and it is now out of reach, not unlike the Holy Grail at the end of Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade. But maybe that's what it's like. It can give me everything, but only in that place. I can't take it out otherwise it will destroy everything. 

I need to get Come All You Weary tattooed across my chest.

Too much harrowing and not enough screwball comedy.

CLOAK AND DAGGER

What makes you stand out from the crowd? What gives you that edge over all the others? Do you want that edge?

I've got to apply for jobs and sell myself even though I don't think I'm very good yet. I'm no good at lying although it seems I've got to start doing it on a couple of things. So now I've got to start lying to a) further my career and b) protect myself. Let's look at these one by one.

a) I can't go all out lie and say I've done things I haven't but I can maybe embellish the truth a little by jazzing up my ordinary skills. I need to think hard about what I've done in order to fill out this form. But what have I done? Not fucking much.

b) I can go all out and lie because if I don't this whole thing could end. I think we both have the same feelings but it's difficult to show them in the current situation. And you, there's probably no need for you to look at this anymore because I can now say everything I want to you, but I'll still mention you because right now you are everything.

As JGW said the other day, quite harrowing and not enough comedy.

MY, WHAT A GOOD DAY FOR A WALK OUTSIDE

It's a bit annoying that the lettering is inconsistent. Photoshop isn't everything it's cracked up to be. That's not a sneaky pun, it's a trial version.

I'M AN OG AND I BUST BACK

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. 

This explains ggg something gg gggg ggg gg gg ggg. gg one gggggg this to happen, but g ggggggg gggggg can gggg g ggg ggg things. It may not be ggg ggg (and let's gggg gg ggg gggg gggg not) but let this be g gggggg gg ggg ggg gg gg gggggggg gggg. It was gggg ggg ggg gg ggg I'm not a ggggggggg man, but I would gggg gg gggg gg ggggg ggg gg gg work out well.

gg, gg gg gg alright. Life gggg gggg. gg gggg, gg hasn't even started.  

Sincerely, little girl.

Night posting - never good.

WHERE'S THE MEDICATION I NEED?

1. This woman on the radio right now really isn't funny. Virgin (Absolute) Radio is on with Geoff Lloyd. I don't really like this radio station as it's really for the man in the van. Geoff Lloyd sounds like Chris Evans so it keep confusing me when I get home. Anyway, everyday about the time I have a cup of tea (a good part of my day), this woman, who I'm sure is only there to read the travel but somehow got her own slot, talks about a song and dissects the lyrics to show that the song is meaningless. It could be a funny idea as I remember being obnoxious once and picking holes in a joke someone was telling, and that got a good reaction, but her delivery is so crap. And Geoff Lloyd, if that is his real name, insists on laughing. How he can do it I don't know. He must be threatened with the sack everyday and then after his show he has one of those moments where you call up in a ball in the shower with all your clothes on just rocking back and forth. And don't get me started on Christian O'Connell these days.

2. I am stuck with my brother-in-laws parents, listening them to attempting to look after the kids. I'm not the perfect babysitter, but they don't really know what they are doing. Which is odd considering they had two children of their own. Maybe I'm just bitter because I've had to sleep on the sofa bed in the dining room for the last 3 days with the inconsiderate cats and a buzzing computer.

I may have felt better if I'd seen someone today. But I'll have to wait until tomorrow.

WILL YOU CONFUSE MY LOVE FOR THE COBWEBS?

That's not the lamp saying that. It's George.

IF YOU LOVE ME, WHY'D YOU LET ME GO?

One should never post twice in one day, but I have to share Garfield Minus Garfield - the inner struggle of Jon Arbuckle in his futile existence.

By removing Garfield from Garfield, we see the root of Jon's problems as a lonely single man in a suburb of misery. Talking to his cat is not the answer, he is just hiding what we all know.

A particular favourite:

I've been thinking of doing something similar for a while to the George and Lynne comics.

IF YOU'D ONLY, IF YOU'D ONLY SAY YES

Singles. Jesus, there's a reason you're single.

The first thing that comes to mind that discos when you don't know anyone are exactly the same as when you are 11, except there's alcohol involved. No one knows what to say to each other, so they get drunk and think what they are doing is flirting. To some people it might be flirting, but if you're going to tweak someone's ear follow it up with a hello at least, and if you're going to steal someone's hat, please give it back because I want to go home.

Anyway, let's just say that last night was pretty badly organised. The door staff were rude and the music was too non-descript. Where's the chart cheese? Play I Kissed A Girl, The Fear or Sex On Fire if you want people to start snogging.

But I didn't like it. You just got stared at. Lots of people looking around to see who they fancied but not doing anything about it. We felt the tension in the room was just going to burst out and any minute it would just descend into an orgy. I believe that was my first and last valentine's singles do. They don't work, certainly not for me. Romance can't be forced, that's what makes it romantic. The movies may lie to us, but they are just an idealogy of what happens. It doesn't happen with great cinematography, but it does happen. Well, I like to think so.

Not me of course, there's no reason I'm single.

BURN

Over the last 5 weeks, posting has been complete therapy. What do you do when you've chosen a new profession and it's not filling you with the joy that you expected it to, and the old profession that you gave up because you only wanted it as a hobby but it's still a sort of profession is filling you with as little joy? Well I vent, and this is the outlet to do it in. Believe me this is not it. If you delved inside the special black book then you'd see the 'ugly' side, but most of that is about people who've spoken to me at a urinal (heathens) and films I've seen.

I will vent when I can,or when I need to. Or just when I'm at the computer and I don't feel like working. Now I'm back in popular culture I may vent on what is going on in Mad Men, Chelsea's current predicament, what will Quentin Tarantino's new film like and what will the new Green Day album sound like. Not that subversive, but no one wants to hear me wallowing in self pity about the girl who blah blah. Always keep your diary hidden from your mother.

Until the next vent.

SAY IT WITH VENNS

Some Venn Diagrams I did. I should really have put more time into it. Click on them to make them bigger.

Venn Diagram showing Hats, Desmond's characters and Food

Venn Diagram showing Places I've Been To The Toilet, Places Bears Have Been To The Toilet and Scary Places

Venn Diagram showing how much I like you

SOMETHING SOFT

As I come to the end of my stint at school, I'll have to say that it wasn't as successful as I had hoped. My story writing has improved no end having written 3 Sci Fi stories and about 4 made up news articles. Below is the fruit of my imagination (although I owe a lot to Back To The Future). Picture by me and Neato - click on it for a bigger one, go on it's really good.

P.S. Never write about time travel; there are just too many plot holes. 

It was a lovely sunny Saturday so I decided to take a stroll to my scientist friend Dr Stump. I walked the long way so I could gaze over the city from the top of Trohman Hill. It was a wonderful sight to see all the modern buildings and I remarked to myself how well the city had advanced.

When I got to the Doc's house, he was busy at work on one of his many inventions. "What's that you're working on Doc?" I asked. "Oh hello there Mikey, I didn't see you come in. This is my most incredible invention yet." "Better than the talking toaster?" I asked, with a smirk on my face. The Doctor didn't get the joke and continued enthusiastically. "Oh much better, this is a time machine. It will be able to take you to any time in the history of Earth. The only problem is that it doesn't seem to be working". He continued to poke at it with a screwdriver. It was then that I noticed the problem. I bent down to pick up the plug which was attached to the base unit of the Doc's contraption. "It would help if you plugged it in Doc" I said as I pushed the plug into a nearby wall socket.

At that moment, everything seemed to stop. A brilliant white light flashed for what seemed like a lifetime. My body felt like it was pressing in on itself but I did not feel any pain. Then millions of colours sped before my eyes and before I knew it I was thrown into nothingness.

I opened my eyes to see the Doc looking back at me with the same startled look that I had. We both slowly turned around to see vast green fields all around us and rugged hills in the distance. There was no sound, just this ominous silence. "Where are we?" I asked. "Not where, but when," replied the Doc. "We've travelled back in time to the year 125 million BC." "I'm not sure I like it here. This land looks very unforgiving." It was then we heard a rumbling sound and an almighty roar. We turned and saw a rampaging dinosaur hurtling towards us. "Run!" screamed the Doc. We started running as fast as we could. The bloodthirsty dinosaur was getting closer. In the corner of my eye I saw an opening in a hill. "Quick," I shouted. "Into that cave." We changed direction and rushed into the cave. We were just in time. We ran in easily, but the massive dinosaur could not fit in and smashed its head on the top of the opening. He crashed to the ground dead. "That was lucky. Now let's go home."

When we got back to the time machine, the Doc set the co-ordinates for present day; the same bright lights flashed in front of us and soon we were away from the time of dinosaurs. We jumped back to the Doc's laboratory. "I think I need a lie down after that," said the Doc. I walked home, again via Trohman Hill. I wanted to look over the city I loved. When I go to the top, the city was not as I remembered. There were no modern buildings, in fact there were hardly any buildings at all and any that were there were dilapidated and falling down. People were running riot and the whole city seemed to be a war zone, a rotting piece of meat. I needed to see the Doc. On the way back, he pulled up beside me in his car, the time machine in the back. "Where are we now?" I asked. "The same place we've always been but a completely different present day. That dinosaur dying has caused a series of events that have completely changed the course of history," the Doc replied. "I can't live here, I want my old city back." The Doc thought hard. "There's one thing we can do," he said. "We need to go back and make sure that dinosaur doesn't die. Then everything should return to normal. We'll need something soft."

I wasn't sure what he meant by the last thing he said but it wasn't hard to find what he wanted. The streets were so run down and chaotic that every house had a rubbish heap outside it. We found an old mattress and held on tight to it as the Doc punched in the co-ordinates. Again, the bright white light flashed and we were standing in the fields surrounded by hills. In the distance we could see ourselves next to the time machine. Then we saw the dinosaur coming at us, I mean them. We turned again and saw that we were quite near the cave. "Quick, bring the mattress," cried the Doc. We go to the cave and quickly attached the mattress to the top of the opening. We hid behind the cave just as our other selves ran in and the dinosaur hit his head. Again, the dinosaur fell to the floor, but after a short while it stood up and shook its head and ran off towards the hills. We stayed hiding as we saw our other selves run back to their time machine and disappear. "I think we've done it," exclaimed the Doc. 'Let's go home." "I hope it's home," I whispered under my breath.

We moved the time machine so we would arrive back in the laboratory. The white light flashed and we were back in the laboratory and everything seemed normal. I looked out the window and the streets were clean and people were smiling. "Is this home?" I asked. The Doc nodded back, a small smile on his face. I walked over the the wall and pulled out the plug from the socket. "I don't want that going off again!"

AND YOUR RED SKY AT NIGHT WON'T FOLLOW ME

When I ever get round to writing my film, I know how it ends. I have no idea what it's about but I know how it ends. It's probably got some gritty Shane Meadows/Irvine Welsh thing going on from this ending.

For some reason, the main protagonist is packing a suitcase. Very systematically but with emotion. It's a suitcase like an old style valise; a proper suitcase, probably handed down through a couple of generations. I'm not sure if the person is a man or a woman, but I think they are quite young, early 20s. It is in black and white. The person is leaving because they have been stuck in this life without joy for a good few years. Either it's a bad marriage, or there's an abusive parent, or the person just doesn't fit in. I think that throughout the film the person has been threatening to leave but never quite has the courage to do so. Actually now I think of it this is probably similar to the end of Somers Town, but I haven't seen that yet.

Anyway, the person is packing and Cold Days From The Birdhouse by The Twilight Sad is playing. The person is emotional but not crying. It is strength that is showing. We see the person leave through the front door and walk down the street. The camera is stationary. The person walks away and turns left and out of shot just as we get to 2:30 in the song and the guitars kick in. The camera stays on the road for another minute. Then the screen fades to black and the credits roll. Everyone feels for the person and the courage it took just to walk away. Everyone stands up, applauds and I win a BAFTA.